Coincidences and Consequences
by lexdwnter
Summary: PG13 for some minor swearing. There are many consequences due to a night of coincidences for Rory and an old flame. (complete)
1. Default Chapter

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Coincidences and Consequences

By Lexy

Disclaimer: Don't own them because if I did, I wouldn't let Dean talk. He makes my ears bleed.

AN: I really don't know were this came from. I should be studying, or doing laundry, not sitting in front of my computer. I hope you all enjoy this. 

Have you ever thought about how life is just a really complex series of coincidences? I mean, how one small event happens and you never think about it until it turns into something really big? Every time I sit down to watch TV, I have to laugh at the characters and how they don't see that such and such an action is going to have such and such reaction. They seem so truly clueless of their situation sometimes you have to wonder what the writers are thinking. Do they actually think that we are not going to figure out the plot? That the guy is not going to get the girl? That the girl won't finally realize that they guy only acts that way for her attention? But then I realize that we are as blind in real life. We don't see what is right in front of us until it either blows up or is gone. We do things everyday without regard to the consequences. We fumble through life until that one coincidence that may have happened years or days ago comes roaring back at full speed to say "hi".

Coincidences weren't even on my mind that night. I sat in the common room of my dorm, all of us crowded around the TV for an 80s movie night. We had just gotten to the part in _Pretty in Pink_ when John Cyer is telling Molly Ringwald to go after Andrew McCarthy, and I was yelling at the screen telling her to stay with Duckie, because no matter how many times I see that movie I always hope that the ending will be different, when he came in, asking for directions to room 318. 318 seems like a simple number, but right now I am thinking of having it tattooed on my ass to forever remind me of coincidences. 

I didn't recognize him at first, in his jeans, Yale crew sweatshirt, and his hair hidden under a baseball cap. Who would have ever thought _he_ would wear a baseball cap? If I had recognized him I would have never stood up, never lead him through the dorm to number 318. 318 has a magical ring to it, doesn't it? No, I would have stayed riveted in my seat, trying dutifully to hide my existence, and ignore his. But I didn't recognize him, so I did stand up, in my I-am-staying-in-tonight clothes and my hair a mess, and lead him to 318. 

"Follow me" I said. No other words, just fell into step in front of him and took off. I didn't turn back until we got to 318. I made note of the girly decorations on the door, and how the 8 was slightly crooked. A large white board was just under the number, full of misshappenly scribbled notes. "5:30 for dinner." "Crew meet on Saturday." "Kerry, went out tonight, be back in the morning. Good luck tonight." The pretty cursive handwriting stands out, taunting me. Good luck tonight... good luck with _him_. I turn back to him, looking snide because I knew he was there for some ass. 

"Thank you, Rory Gilmore," he says to me. Startled I meet his eyes, and I _know_. Deep blue. Like standing on the edge of a calm lake and when I step in the undertow pulls me down. Down were everything is clear. 318 opens and I am forcefully hauled out of that lake, left cold and shivering. The lake-eyes disappear into the room and in a fury of blonde hair and breasts the door is closed, leaving me there, wet and unsure.

I make my way back to my room, realizations almost blinding me. He had loved me, and I hadn't seen it. He went away so I could be happy. Everything was for me and because of me. And I was too blind to see it. I was one of those girls on the screen that I yell at because she is making a huge mistake and losing the guy that would have been it. But now it is too late. Damn Coincidences!!!

Closing the door, I hope to be able to block out the lake. _Try to study, _I think, _that will help. _I pull textbooks from my shelves, but the tears in my eyes, make it hard to read. I look down at my notebook and instead of definitions of terms, I see, doodled over and over, _318 tonight_. I throw the pad across the room in disgust. 318.... 318... it mocks me. Out of the corners of the pain, resolution comes. I will not let 318 win! 

I throw open the door and meet resistance. Muscled, sweatshirted resistance. I look up and am plunged into the lake again.

"Hello Mary." 


	2. part 2

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Coincidences and Consequences part 2

by Lexy

Disclaimer: Still don't own them, Dean is still having lines.

AN: Ok, I really wasn't planning for the story to have another part or even the next one that is going after this (which will be after my midterm on Saturday, have to study...) but I got such a good response that I felt obliged to deliver. I hope you all enjoy and thank you sooooo much for your reviews.

Why is that whenever you try really hard not to think about something, it is the only thing you can think about? And you think about it, and think about it, and think about it till one day it isn't there anymore. Whoever said that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" was full of bullshit. Forgetful is more like it. It is a natural reaction. Remove the stimulus and the neurons stop firing. Move away and forget. Coping mechanisms, kind of like those people that suppress memories after a traumatic event, but not really. Out of sight, out of mind. It works, until your sight returns. It can be a color, an odor, a certain sound that drives that memory from where it is hiding to the surface. But even that eventually goes away. Those little clues of the senses, that once played regular tricks on you, are deaden from misuse. 

That is why I didn't notice. The sight of soft brown hair, the sound of gentle laughter, the faint smell of strawberries, none of them clued me in. None of them told me _she_ was there. I hadn't seen her in four years, hadn't thought about her in two. All of the pain that I thought she had caused me, forgotten. I had grown up, moved on, realized that there are ways to treat people and ways to not. I guess she was responsible for that in her own way. It is not like I romanticized our relationship. She wasn't the benevolent teacher, and I wasn't the willing student. We were teenagers for Christ's sake. Playing at the game like we really knew what was involved. What the cost were, or the benefits. But we didn't. We had no real idea of how even to start. 

And there she was. As willing to help as ever. I didn't expect her. Of all the dorms in the world I walked into hers. I looked over, waiting for Sam to magically be at the piano. Damn, Casablanca, that was hers. Standing in plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a thin white tee shirt. She opens her mouth and says something. It doesn't quite register, but I get the idea when she starts to walk away. Kind of like she really doesn't see me. Like she never really saw me. 

I follow her, trying to ignore the tingly feeling spreading through my body. Trying even harder not to look at the way she sways when she walks or the outline of her body through her shirt. I focused on everything else until we arrived at 318. Behind that door stood salvation with out emotional attachment. Kerry, a blonde, what my father would call buxom, girl. Harvard Crew. I meet her last week at a meet. Her handwriting filled the paper I held in my hand, _318, no strings._ Kind of like a mantra it played through my head.

She turned back to me, still not seeing. I couldn't resist. I had to make her see. I could have been nice. Could have let her go. Never have let her see. But the child left in me couldn't , wouldn't let go without one more jab. Na-na-a-boo-boo. Pulling her pigtails one more time.

"Thank you Rory Gilmore."

There is was, my final taunt. But then she looked up. Her eyes cloudy with doubt. Electricity flew between us. I couldn't be just me feeling it. Everything was perfect for that moment in time, and I knew that she knew me. Everything about me. But then I remembered the game. Behind the door was a sure pass go and collect 200 dollars. Out here was something that was unstable, exciting, and volatile. So I did what I had done before. I ran. 

The door closed behind me. The air was heavy with the perfume of scented candles. Christmas lights strung around the room played at a romantic fallacy. All in all, it was almost laughable. A pale shadow of the excitement I had experienced moments before. I realized I wasn't passing go tonight, and it really didn't matter. All that mattered was _her, _or the chance of her.

"I am sorry, I can't do this."

Quickly I escaped from the room. Heading quickly through the halls, stopping total strangers in hopes of finding her. 

I don't know how I got here, but here I am. Inches away from her. I can hear her inside. I know she is in there. Only the door stand in my way. But suddenly I am scared. I feel sixteen again. I almost turn to go, but the door opens. She is here, close to me, within reach but so far away. Looking into her eyes, I finally find my voice.

"Hello Mary." 


	3. Part 3

Coincidences and Consequences

Part 3

By Lexy

Disclaimer. I don't own anything, I don't mean any harm. I am just waiting for the nice men in white coats to come and take me to the nice rooms were I can bounce off the walls.

AN. Sorry this took so long, I have been... well otherwise occupied, and that I all I am going to say about that ;) I will try to get the next part out sooner, and sometime soon I will update King of Fools for all of you who read that too.

I didn't know what to do. What do you do when someone like this waltzes back into your life? Are you just supposed to smile and nod? Are you supposed to act like nothing has changed? Like you aren't a completely different person now? Are you supposed to restrain yourself because you don't know whether to kiss or to kill them? What do you do when they make you feel like you are sixteen again? Your mouth is dry and your palms are cold. A million things are running through your head. What to say, what to do, what you ate for dinner earlier, are girl scout cookies made from real girl scouts? Your brain can't process anything, your stomach's in knots, and all you really want to do is faint. So you act on instinct. Your brain shuts off and your body takes over.

I didn't even know that I was hugging him until I felt his arms slowly wrap around me. He moved slowly, hesitant, like I was going to break or fade away if he moved any faster than a slow crawl. I was hanging on for dear life, not knowing quite why. In high school he was the bane of my existence, my own personal Mephisophilis. He was the Judd Neslon to my Molly Ringwald. And here he was now, and my feelings were completely jumbled. 

"Tristan, it is so good to see you," I say into his shoulder, my words muffled by the soft material. 

. 

"And you too Mary."

I tense for a second and release my grip on him. I lean back just in time to see he face fall a bit. But the smirk I remember soon sneaks its way onto his face. 

"Miss me?"

"Ohhh yes, every second of every day. How long has it been?" Keep talking I tell myself, the more you talk the longer you can avoid 318. "How have you been? What have you been up to? Have you ever wondered about how awkward moments seem to stretch on forever? What are you doing here?"

"It has been four years. I have been good, Yale has kept me busy. I have wondered about it, and I think that the only way to fill the moment is to babble. And I am at Harvard for a meet, hence the fabulous shirt, and I was at this dorm to see about a girl, and I found her."

"318."

"318?"

"Yup, 318... cute girl, no roommate tonight... still doesn't explain why you are here."

"Same old Rory, direct. I felt the need to catch up with an old friend. Girls like Kerry are a dime a dozen, can get them anytime. But how often do I get to grace one Rory Gilmore with my presence?"

"Same old Tristan, cocky. If your head can fit through the door you are welcome to come in and talk for a little while."

I lead him into my room. _My room_. It seems so foreign to have him here. In my personal space. It is not like I had never had guys here before. Dean was here once. Nope, don't want to think about _that_ night. But Tris, Tris was different. Did I just call him Tris? He didn't belong here. And yet in some strange way he did. It wasn't like we were ever close. Friend wasn't a term that I would have ever used to describe him. Irritation, yes. Annoyance, yes. But never friend. It was different now. Here he was, in my room. His whole manner seemed different. More laid back, more sincere. He wasn't the person I knew at Chilton, I could tell by just looking at him. 

"Please don't mind the mess, my roommate, Megan. She is a fencer and sometimes her stuff gets all over the place. I always ask her about it, but it happens anyway. You are in luck however, my mom just sent a care package. Cookies from Sookie, my mom's best friend. If my mom had cooked them, the would have melted the container they came in, but Sookie cooked them so you are safe. "

Taking a cookie Tristan smiled. Not that overconfident smirk, but a real smile. It makes me wonder just what had changed in him. When did he become a real person? And how in the hell did I know that he was a real person? I have seen him for what, 5 seconds? And I am already making judgments about him? He is sitting down. Move Rory... bend the legs and sit. And talk, can't forget that.

And we do talk, for hours. We talk about everything, stories from the years apart, literature, politics, life. And now I know he is different. There is nothing lewd or suggestive in his statements. He is calm, almost gentle and a little reserved. The boy I remember is gone. The facade is down, he is real and genuine. 

The clock showed 2 when he finally yawned and stood up. 

"Rory, as much as I have loved talking, if I don't get some sleep coach is going to kill me."

"I am sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. Of course you have to go..."

"Come by and see me tomorrow? We race on the Charles. You can come watch us crush Harvard."

"Now why would I want to do that? And no way are you going to beat us."

"Whatever you say Mary, I am too tired to argue. Now let's pretend like we are old friends and leave on good terms."

And he wraps me up in a giant hug. A warm, gentle, painfully platonic hug. I pull back a little to look in his eyes, but there are no clues there. He smiles slightly, amused by my confusion, and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. 

"Tomorrow Mary?"

"Tomorrow," I promise. And he leaves. Out the door without another word. But why do I now feel like I have promised him the stars?


	4. Part 4

Coincidences and Consequences

Part 4

Disclaimer. I don't own anything. I mean no harm by the use of these characters. I promise I will return them undamaged.

AN: Well, this is finally done. It took me forever, I know. Surprising for how short it really is. I hope you like the results. For sake of trying not to be confusing I have told you who is thinking at the beginning of each stream of consciousness rant. Well, on with the show.

Tristan

I never thought that it would be like this. Never in all my teenage fantasies had I dreamt that I would feel this way. That _I_ could spend all night talking with Rory Gilimore and feel... nothing. Well physical attraction, for sure, but nothing more. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months of high school infatuation, all melted away sometime between then and now. And I am disappointed. None of that epic romance, love a first sight, or would that be second, that books and media always tell us should happen. Only a want for friendship with a girl that I would have once given my inheritance to pin up against a wall and do naughty things to. A night full of talking and I hadn't thought about kissing her since five minutes after I walked in the door. 

She hadn't changed. Every word and mannerism couldn't be more Rory if she had been sitting there in blue plaid. That air of innocence that I had once found so intriguing, still clings to her . But now I don't feel the need to try to rip it to shreds. What has happened to me? When did I change from conqueror to compadre? What do you do when you realize that something that you have always held true about yourself is suddenly a lie? Well I guess I have her to thank, again. Every time she comes into my life, something changes. And now I am starting to think that that isn't a bad thing....

Rory

Sometimes you blink and things change. I never thought that I would be up at 9 on a Saturday morning, freezing my butt off, to watch him. I also never expected to see in his eyes what I saw when he greeted me this morning. Happiness to see me, concern for my freezing limbs, and friendship. That was it. No lust, want, need. No nothing, just friendship. This isn't what is supposed to happen. High school enemies reunite in college, fall madly in love, kissing and groping ensues. That is what they say should happen. That is how all the cheesy romance stories end. The girl on screen that you are yelling at finally wises up and sees what is right in front of her before it is too late. Before all that is left is friendship.

The funny part is that I feel... relieved. There doesn't have to be some big romantic ending where I feel like I should be wearing a hoop skirt and dropping my parasol as he takes me in his arms and the violin music crescendos. Tristan and I will always be, Tristan and I. The awkward teenage tango has been put behind us, faded into the background like extras in a horror movie that the killer doesn't care enough about to chase. 

Last night had a weird effect on my psyche. Surprise and lust are a bad combination. Well, they always cool weather will clear your head. I really need to find this they and give them a piece of my mind. 

Not that I am ruling anything more than friendship with him out. A true Gilmore never rules anything out. If she did, my mother wouldn't have made me stay up and watch reruns of Antique Road show when I was home last. I just have a feeling that it won't. The consequences of coincidences aren't karmatic in nature. Life just is.

Tristan

Rory and I still keep in touch. Email, voice mail, snail mail. Calls to vent, visits to party, shoulders to cry on, they are all a part of our lives now. She is my closest friend, confidant, a sister that I never had. She will dance at my wedding, and I at hers. Maybe someday we will live down the street from each other. Watch our kids grow up together. Only they won't be _our_ kids. No one would have ever believed that anyway. After all, not all stories end in great romance. 


End file.
